Masked Savior
by susies-fandom-wonders
Summary: Anonymous requested a fic in which Layton gets attacked and Descole saves the day.


Anon said: Hello, could you write something about Layton being attacked by some bad people and having a panic attack and then being rescued by Descole please ?

Oh that was very specific hhh

Layton having a panic attack? Preposterous. A true gentleman never emotes at all. You need to be dead inside to be a true gentleman.

HHHH I kid (not really I'm actually being quite serious Hershel you need to emote)

Hmhmhm I feel like doing this during the time Layton was trying to figure out why Claire had died and he got beat within an inch of his life akdhs

Masked Savior

The professor had walked home late at night all the time; he never really thought much of it when he left Gressenheller later than he usually did. He walked down the streets of London, his home close to the university; he missed the last bus, the next not arriving for an hour yet.

He didn't think much of it when a group of three men started to follow him. They were probably going home, like he was. He paused, however, when he realized they were eerily quiet; he had to look behind him to make sure they were actually there. Their faces were concealed in shadow, their steps brisk and silent. He stopped, and turned; the men stopped as well, several paces behind him.

"Excuse me, gentlemen." Layton tipped his hat, trying to be pleasant. This could be a misunderstanding, after all. "Is there any particular reason why you're following me?" The men looked at each other for a moment before one of them stepped forward.

"We were wondering how to get to the Thames." The voice had a thick accent Layton couldn't quite pinpoint. The professor hummed.

"Tourists?" The man who had spoke nodded.

"We were told it was beautiful at night." Layton smiled.

"It truly is." He pointed the direction he was walking. "If you continue down the sidewalk and take a right, go for a block or so and take a left, it's there." The men nodded.

"Thank you."

"It was my pleasure." The men started walking past him, and Layton relaxed muscles that he didn't know were tensed until they unclenched.

One of the men turned to face him, and before Layton could comprehend what had happened next, he had been slammed against the wall of the building next to him, knocking the air out of him. His hat tumbled from his head to the ground, where it rolled a bit before stopping. The men had crowded around him, and Layton's mind began to whirl as he thought of reasons why they'd be doing this. They shook him against the wall.

"What have you uncovered?" The man who had spoken to him asked. Layton felt his throat closing up.

"I-I'm not sure I understand --"

"The explosion!" Layton's eyes widened a fraction. True, he had been doing research on Claire's death, the papers and scribbled notes in his office at home. He wasn't sure why these men would want that information, though.

"Why do you want to know…?" One of the men had retrieved his hat from the ground, and was looking it over with feigned interest. Hershel's heart was beginning to pound, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

"Just tell us." Layton struggled for words, fear closing his throat completely. "Now!"

"I don't…." He was thrown to the ground, and he immediately tried to scramble away from his now assaulters. They were on him immediately, his body being kicked and punched mercilessly as he desperately tried to raise his hands to block his face, his head.

The men didn't stop, and Layton felt rather than heard the crack as his left arm gave way under the constant assault. He let out a shout as the limb fell to the ground.

They began kicking at his face, his head, and one kick was strong enough Layton was seeing stars more than the area around him. His panic grew -- was he going to die here? -- and he let out pained gasps as the men continued to beat him for all he had.

He could faintly begin to hear something through the ringing in his ears. A soft fluttering, like wings, or cloth. The assault on him had stopped, and he struggled to make sense of what he was seeing, the shouting and yelling he could make out an indicator someone else was there with them. Was there nine men, or only three? Wait, that one looks new. His panic grew to the point where he was close to just blacking out, but he couldn't, if this was a threat, he still needed to be awake.

His head really hurt. It felt like his skull had been cracked open. He gave sharp, shallow breaths, his entire body surging with pain. It felt like a rib or two had been fractured with each pained inhale.

"Layton…?" The voice that reached his cotton-filled mind was deep, smooth. "Can you answer me? Are you still with me?"

Layton couldn't find it in him to form an answer. His head simply hurt too much.

He probably has a concussion. Figures. There was a bright light shining in his blurred vision.

"He still is conscious." A new voice, another accent. "But he won't be for much longer. His head has been severely injured." A finger ghosted over his forehead, and he hissed before his breathing grew heavier. "Look at the bruises already forming. And here," A slight touch brought a pained cry from Layton. "Here he's been kicked hard enough to possibly suffer permanent damage."

A string of muffled curse words. Layton couldn't even begin to wonder what the man had said above him. There were arms underneath him then, and he let out a pained whimper, his vision swimming with dark spots. He felt safe with the men that had saved him. He could possibly rest now.

"It will be okay, Layton." He felt himself being laid down, was he in a car…? He didn't know anymore. "You will get help very soon."

Somehow, Layton found a strange comfort in these words. Even though sleeping was a terrible, terrible idea, Layton couldn't help but drift off.

He would be okay. Whoever had him was taking him someplace safe, he would be okay.

And now matter how much Layton thought about it, he felt something familiar about that voice.


End file.
